


this is the beat of my heart

by paupersQueen



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Someone please get this boy some therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 06:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18360347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paupersQueen/pseuds/paupersQueen
Summary: He’s 19 years old and he feels as though he’s constantly on the brink of falling apart.





	this is the beat of my heart

He’s 19 years old and he feels as though he’s constantly on the brink of falling apart.

 

Jason started playing at the bar on a whim. Everything in his life lately had felt a lot like a whim; all of his carefully crafted plans had been brought down around Jason’s ears, leaving him nothing but his instincts and a vicious desire to survive the chaos. If he made a choice, it was on the fly, spontaneous and on the edge of reckless. It was all he had right now. No revenge, no justification, just the deep and heart-wrenching realization that the only parent figure he’d ever truly had was just--

 

Well. Maybe it wasn’t on Bruce. Maybe it was on Jason for just not being _enough_.

 

The guitar had been the first whim. Nothing outwardly fancy, but functional-- an acoustic with the semi-glossy finish indicative of a used instrument. Someone had drawn initials at the base of the neck-- ‘SB’-- in permanent marker long ago, but Jason had no earthly clue who that was. He wondered why they sold it. Did they lose the passion for it, or did the need for cash overpower their love of music? It was impossible to say, especially in a city like Gotham.

 

\--

 

When he was young, 12 and scared, the guitar lessons were a gift from Bruce. The opposite of a whim: an actual planned token of affection when Jason had needed it most. The guitar Bruce gave him had been brand new, an acoustic Fender just for him. At 14, he’d get a shiny red electric Fender for Christmas (a decision he was sure Bruce eventually regretted, given the odd hours of practice and loud amp that came with the instrument).

 

At 15, he died.

 

Jason wondered where those guitars went. He wondered if it mattered to Bruce as much as it had mattered to Jason.

 

\--

 

The lights weren’t bright enough to block the view of the audience, but Jason was nothing if not focused. He committed to doing this; he was going to _fucking_ do this. Almost unbidden, his fingers started to play.

 

_“_ _This is gospel for the fallen ones, locked away in permanent slumber--_ _”_

  
\--

 

He’s 13 and starting to finally fall into the rhythm of his new life. School is good, the classes are challenging but fun, and patrol is the kind of thrill he never knew his life was lacking. It was one thing to be on the streets-- it was another thing entirely to soar above them. The guitar lessons Bruce had organized for him were amazing. Everything seemed so good. So crazy good.

 

Jason knew it couldn’t last. He just didn’t know _when_ the eventual fallout would happen. All he knew was that in the meantime, he’d soak up all the good he could get out of all of this.

 

His fingers danced between the cords he’d been practicing, getting faster and easier with every repetition. Maybe he’d play this one for Bruce once he had it mastered.

 

_“_ _Assembling their philosophies, from pieces of broken memories--”_

 

\--  


“You new?”

 

Jason almost jumped out of his skin. All those years of training with the League of Assassins were useless in the face of his nerves. Turning his head, he saw a girl with a lip ring and a clipboard giving him a raised eyebrow.

 

“Uh-- yeah.”

 

“Cool, you playing then?”

 

It was Jason’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “That would probably be why I brought the guitar, yeah.”

 

Rather than take offense, the girl smirked lightly. Ah, Gothamites. “Cool. Twenty minute sets, you go on at 10. Got a name for the list?”

 

“Jay Peterson.” The lie rolled off his tongue easily. It had been a common cover in the past couple years. Perhaps also an obvious one, but it had worked okay so far.

 

She scribbled on the clipboard accordingly. “Got it. I’m Alice; I should be up by the bar if you’ve got any questions. Have a good time.”

  


\--

 

He’s 13 (and a half!) and while he’s played for Bruce and Alfred, Jason had never found a chance to play for Dick. To be completely honest, Jason wasn’t even sure Dick knew that Jason played guitar at all. Maybe Alfred had told him, but Jason couldn’t be sure. Dick had certainly never stuck around to even ask about what Jason was interested in. He probably had no idea that Jason loved music and reading, and that, while he wasn’t great at math, he was getting better all the time with Barb’s help.

 

Staring at the ceiling as he laid on the overly plush carpet of his bedroom, Jason slowly and methodically strummed the guitar, a sigh escaping him. Whatever. He didn’t need Dick’s approval. He didn’t.

 

He didn’t.

 

“ _If you love me, let me go, if you love me, let me go..._ ”

 

“Oh, I love that song.”

 

With a jolt and the sharp ping of a bad note, Jason sat up, staring in alarm at the door that Dick Grayson was currently leaning in. Speak of the devil…

 

“Oh, uh-- me too?”

 

Dick seemed to take the response as an invitation to enter, plopping down on Jason’s bed. “You know, Bruce told me that he was thinking about getting you piano lessons, but I convinced him that guitar would be a lot cooler. I’m glad it’s worked out, you play really well.”

 

The blush on Jason’s face was practically radioactive, it glowed so brightly. “Th-Thanks! Um, yeah, I like the lessons a lot.”

 

“I bet you do. Look at all this sheet music,” Dick said, leafing through the large stack that seemed to live on Jason’s bedside table. “Doesn’t look like you need it much, though. You were playing just fine a minute ago.”

 

“It’s, um, mostly to learn from,”Jason replied, standing up from his place on the floor. “I’m pretty good at memorizing it.”

 

“Yeah?” Something in Dick’s eyes seemed to light up at the new test of skill he would get to put Jason through. “So let’s say I just-- I pulled out a sheet at random. You’d know what to play?”

 

If he was anything, Jason Todd was not someone who backed down from a challenge. Briefly, he internally panicked, wondering if maybe he’d ovestated his talent but-- no. No, he could do this. His responding grin lit up his whole face. “Bring it on, Dickiebird.”

 

\--

 

He’s 20 and losing blood at a rate that’s fairly alarming. Not that Jason is feeling anything at all, at this point; all of his extremities felt numb, and the lack of sensation is slowly but surely beginning to climb up his limbs. Jason has died before. He knows what it feels like. But this time felt...better. No, dying wasn’t really what he wanted to do, but-- if it had to happen again, better for it to be like this. Not loud, just quiet. A slip into the great beyond, rather than the battering ram of an explosion.

 

“Jason-- Jason look at me! Jason!” Rough hands shook his body; a flare of pain cut through the numb buzz. He gasped, eyes focusing on the figure in front of his face. “Jason, you have to stay awake. You have to stay awake for me. Jason, do you hear me?”

 

That was just like Dick. Giving him orders like Jason was any part of their fucked up family-- wait.

 

“D-Dick? How--” Jason coughed, his whole body shuddering with the effort. “Where--?”

 

“You’re lucky I decided to swing through the Alley tonight. Hold on, okay? Help is coming, you just have to stay awake for me.”

 

“Dick-- you have to--” He coughed, tasting iron in the back of his throat. It was now or never. “You have to--”

 

“No, no, stop, you’re just gonna hurt yourself, stay with me Jason.”

 

“You have to tell them--”

 

“Jason, stop--!”

 

“If you love me, _l-let me g-go.”_

 

Jason didn’t say anything after that. His mouth was too full of blood and his eyes too tired to stay open any longer.

 

\--

 

He’s 14 and angry enough to cry, he’s so mad at Bruce. That asshole, Tommy Whatshisface, deserved to get socked in the face. He deserved it! He acted like he owned that stupid hoity-toity private school Bruce forced Jason to go to, and the one time he stood up for himself, Jason had to get detention for it.

 

Bruce didn’t even give him the time to explain what happened before benching him. With rough motions, Jason used the edge of his sleeve to wipe away the few traitorous tears that slipped down his face.

 

Vindictively, Jason grabbed the beautiful red guitar he’d been given two months prior for Christmas and cranked the amp to its max volume. If Bruce wasn’t going to listen to him, fine. _Fine_. But Bruce was certainly going to hear him.

 

_“‘Cause these words are knives that often leave scars, the fear of falling apart--”_

\--

 

He’s 19 and at this point, he’s a regular at open mic night. Alice at the bar is nice enough, even if he hasn’t managed to convince her to give him free drinks yet. He finds himself getting more confident every time he shows up. Maybe that’s why he didn’t notice the figure of Dick Grayson in the back of the bar until after he’d almost finished wrapping up his set.

 

Dick was, as always, utterly breathtaking.

 

Jason’s words came out ragged, locking eyes with the man he’d always looked up to.

 

_“And truth be told, I never was yours, the fear, the fear of falling apart.”_

 

He bowed his head. Jason couldn’t-- he couldn’t look at him. See the grief and wonder displayed so nakedly on Dick’s face, like Jason was anything other than the ghost story used to keep Bruce’s new recruits in line.

 

_“Oh, this is the beat of my heart, this is the beat of my heart.”_

 

The show must go on.

 

\--

 

He’s 20 and somehow, Jason Todd is not dead. Everything seemed muffled around him, sight blurry and sound distant, and no matter how much he tried to remember, he couldn’t figure out how he got here. With sluggish, fumbling hands, Jason tugged at the mask around his face, only to be stopped by a gentle touch.

 

“No, Jay. The mask stays on.”

 

Even through the haze of his senses, Jason could clearly hear the deep timbre of Bruce Wayne. And through his exhaustion and pain, he was just tired enough to be okay with that.

 

Jason’s neck tilted in Bruce’s direction, one last whim in a series of spontaneous descisions, soaking up the presence he was usually too sober and aware to appreciate. Bruce’s hand lingered on his own, rubbing gentle circles against Jason’s knuckles while the other settled itself in his hair.

 

Later, he’d scoff at these moments of weakness, but right now--

 

_Oh, this is the beat of my heart, this is the beat of my heart._

 

He slipped back into unconsciousness, feeling more himself than he had in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> ‘This Is Gospel’ is by Panic! At The Disco and Jason Todd is a walking/talking cliche. Thanks for reading!


End file.
